Race You To The Horizon
by Crowded Angels
Summary: The back of her chair was to him, her feet up on the desk, her shoes on the floor; the office was bathed in darkness as she looked out the window. He wasn't sure if his sigh was for her demeanour, or his acceptance that something was wrong and now he couldn't turn a blind eye.
1. Chapter 1

For Vicki, for whom I am The Newsroom/feel enabler and damn proud! ;)

With thanks and cares to Tricki as always xx

Title taken from Jeff Daniels' 'Race You To The Horizon'. You won't regret listening to his music, trust me.  
_His smile was easy/his eyes were hard/he had a way of looking through her right into her heart/she hadn't had nothing in such a long long time/she was in too deep._

* * *

It was Tuesday when Will decided he was worried. He had watched her focus float away in meetings, her words die off mid-sentence, her attention only caught after multiple name calls.

He had seen her in the office before him every day, but that wasn't too unusual; it was Tuesday when he realised she was still there long after he left too. He had stuck around a bit longer than usual that night - changing, checking some polling data, waiting for Lonny to get through traffic – and had an urge to check her office. The newsroom had quickly emptied after the show, but something told him she was still there. He fought the decision to look - fought the decision to care – but found himself peeking through the horizontal decal lines of the windows.

The back of her chair was to him, her feet up on the desk, her shoes on the floor; the office was bathed in darkness as she looked out the window. He wasn't sure if his sigh was for her demeanour, or his acceptance that something was wrong and now he couldn't turn a blind eye.

He had left the office that night – despite better intentions - trying to figure out what was on her mind. Her father was in good health, it wasn't an anniversary that he could remember and she usually seemed happy in her job.

It was during Wednesday morning's briefing that he noticed that someone else was worrying about her as well: Jim Harper. Will clocked the extra glances he would throw her way, the picking-up-where-she-left-off of sentences, the hand on her shoulder as he passed. He spoke quietly to her at his desk at one point; Will watched through his office door as they talked, Jim leaning closer to speak more privately with MacKenzie shaking her head and waving him off. She seemed to be trying to reassure him, and though he would nod his acquiescence, Will could see the look of concern on his face as she walked away from him.

During the 6pm briefing, when excitement, nerves and deadlines were at their highest and tightest, Will called Jim aside as he was asking for his AP's to get him somebody's number and ensure somebody else was set up in the Los Angeles office for the interview.

"What's up?" Jim asked, his eyes flicking out to the newsroom – where he needed to be –as he sat down in the chair Tess had vacated seconds before.

Will spun his chair to him, his posture not changing. "How long have we known each other, Jim?"

"Three years."

"And how long have you known MacKenzie?"

His foot was tapping, "Six."

"Mmhmm. I've known her since you were in grade school and I know you know something's going on with her."

"I don't know what you mean."

"And I admire that, Jim, I do. But cut the crap, okay? She's worrying me and I don't like it when she worries me."

"Will, she's fine-"

"She is not fine and I want to know why. Now."

"You should talk to Mac."

"I probably should, yes, but instead I'm talking to you," he really needed a cigarette.

Jim sighed, scratching at the back of his head as leant forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He didn't want to talk behind Mac's back but he was concerned too and maybe Will could help. "We were driving for the Pakistani border. We'd been on the road for a couple of hours and the landscape had barely changed, just dust and rocks and _heat._ Mac was up front with one of our Army guys, Matthew Lorenzo. Everyone called him Renzo and he… he was a really good guy."

"Was?"

"We were the middle truck of a convoy of three and the lead truck blew up. Just boom, gone. Mac and Renzo were arguing Springsteen versus U2 and suddenly we were taking fire. Renzo slammed on the brakes and covered Mac, taking a bullet to the head." He took a breath, "It all happened so fast. She had to push his body off of her but when she did… there was a guy at her window with his face covered and a gun pointed at her head. She froze. I froze."

Will took in a breath, "What happened?"

"A guy in the truck behind us hadn't frozen and blew his head off."

"Fuck."

"That was four years ago. His widow was seven months pregnant with their second child and couldn't afford the funeral costs and the impending hospital bill so Mac-"

"Paid for the funeral."

"Yeah. That was four years ago last Sunday and his wife sends her pictures of the kids on the anniversary."

"Fuck," he repeated.

"Yeah. Listen, Will, I gotta…" he gestured to the buzzing newsroom behind him, the APs with at least one phone to their ear and an eye still focused on him and Will.

"Go, go," Will waved him away, watching the Senior Producer disappear into the throng of desks and sudden onslaught of shouts, hollers and waving hands.

He left on time that night. He changed back into his jeans and sweater after the broadcast, passed his suit to the intern and walked out to Lonny with his briefcase.

He read through Kansas polling data, Alaska Mayoral candidate campaigns and New Hampshire school board elections, but his mind would always stray. He couldn't lose a mental image of MacKenzie with somebody else's blood on her face, a gun pointed to her forehead and those eyes of hers wide, surprised, terrified. He necked his tumbler of whisky and poured another, abandoning the stacks of statistics for the TV.

It didn't help. Not when he flicked onto a news report about Egypt, footage of the dead and dying, the people with guns roaming streets and killing innocents.

He left her a note on Thursday night. Dr Habib's card with his scrawl on the back: _I know. Talk to him or talk to me, but please talk to someone. Will._


	2. Chapter 2

A Clark Gable movie was on the TV but Will's attention was only half there. He sipped at his whisky as his mind wandered to whether Mackenzie was still at the office, what her reaction may have been to seeing the card, what she must have felt looking down the barrel of that gun whilst her friend and comrade was bleeding over her.

He thought back through his own life, searching for a moment when he was most scared, most terrified for his life. The death threats barely made an impact, though when the appointment of Lonny was deemed necessary it made him step back a little and think. He had had the odd hangover that made him think he was dying, but that was tequila for you.

The closest he came to actual fear, the true fight-or-flight response, was when he was eleven. His father had come home from the cattle auction with no money, flammable breath and handy fists. Will had herded his siblings to behind the outhouse and waited in the yard by the kitchen door, listening as his mother screamed and pleaded, as his father swore and punched.

It was when he had heard the smash of his mother's favourite vase and the tune of one of his baby brother's toys that Will ran through the kitchen and into the living room. His Mom was on the floor in the corner, blood gushing down her face and eyes wide as Will bounded into the room. She tried to silently usher him out of the room, pleading with him to go to the neighbour's with his brother and sisters but all Will could see was his usually stalwart Mom cowering in fear.

He shouted for his father, his hands balled to fists, his heart hammering in his chest. His Mom called for him whilst he shouted for his father. His Dad turned, his face contorted in slack-jawed malice as Will took a swing. John McAvoy turned and managed to scoot out of the way with surprising dexterity considering the bottle of booze in his system.

Will swung again, a yell of determination and frustration leaving his gritted teeth, but a fist connected with his cheek. Another hammered into his chest and Will fell to his knees. He couldn't breathe, he could barely see, his entire body throbbed with excruciating pain as his mother screamed his name.

His arms were wrapped around his chest, seemingly holding it together as he tried desperately to take a breath. He rasped, vocalising his intake of air as he looked up to his father, his fist still clenched. He felt something wet beneath his knees and saw a puddle of Dewar's seeping into the carpet, the bottle at his thigh-

The bell dinged from the elevator in Will's apartment, bringing him from his reverie with a pounding heart and sweaty brow. He swallowed, taking a moment to blink and clear his mind. He placed the tumbler on the table and crossed to the hallway, looking around the corner to where the elevator doors were jerking open.

He stepped fully into view when he saw Mackenzie. She looked so… little. Lost beneath jeans and a sweater, hair scraped up in a ponytail, hands hidden under curled up sleeves. She tried for words, her mouth forming silent shapes before giving up, her head dropping. She looked to him under her fringe and managed, "Manny remembered me. He let me up."

Will cocked his head, gesturing for her to come in, whilst he went into kitchen.

He heard her pass as he closed a cabinet door, pouring boiling water (from the special faucet he got suckered into buying) into a mug and adding a generous glug of whisky and honey before placing it on the table in front of her.

She had tucked herself into the far corner of the couch, hugging her knees to her chest and picking at a thread on her sweater cuff.

He sat back down, taking his whisky back into his hand and stealing a glance at her. He knew her better than he often wanted to and right now, he could tell she wasn't ready to talk. Not yet. He turned his attention back to the movie and took a gulp of his drink.

It wasn't long before he heard a sniffle. He looked to her, seeing silent tears falling down her cheeks and a quivering chin.

"C'mere," he whispered, threading his arm around the back of the couch and inviting her to into his side. She scooted over, lips bitten together as she fought back the onslaught of tears and folded herself against him. She creased his tee shirt into her fist as his arm tightened around her shoulders.

His hand slipped from the chair arm, jolting him awake around 4am. He blinked away the surprise, trying to focus into the silvery moonlight and not finding MacKenzie under his seeking hand.

She was sat on the edge of the seat, her back hunched over and nails picking at sore cuticles.

"MacKenzie?" He smoothed his hand across the cushion and up her back. He could feel every notch on her spine; she'd always been thin but not like that.

He felt her take a breath before a shaky voice began, "We were shooting in Islamabad; had been for a few hours. We watched it grow from a group of six to the entire square being just a swarming mass of people, children, signs, horns, effigies, chants… Down every side street, hanging out of windows, in doorways…" She swallowed, wiping a spot of blood from a torn cuticle on her jeans.

He knew what she was talking about; had heard about it on the news, from Charlie, eventually from her via email. He let her continue:

"A fight broke out between a protester and a group of Sunni supporters who had come to see what all the fuss was about. I turned our camera to cover it and… and suddenly I was on the floor with Renzo on top of me asking 'Ma'am, are you alright?'" She had dropped her voice to mimic him. "They all called me ma'am over there. I felt like the bloody Queen."

"Mac…"

"I said I was fine. I thought I was. I thought it was Renzo who had been injured because he had blood on his shirt when he got off me… It turned out it was my blood and I had a two centimetre stab wound in my belly. How stupid does that sound? I didn't know I'd been stabbed. It's like it should be a special double with 'I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant'. Fuck…"

She shook her head, raking a hand through her fringe and over her head. "Renzo picked me up, carried me like a child to the truck and got us back to the base. I had surgery on site and was out of it for two weeks."

"He saved your life."

"And then four months later he throws himself over me again and takes a bullet to the head and dies. For me. He saved my life and then he died for it. I-I…" she sighed heavily, no longer picking at her fingers but squeezing them tightly into fists. "He had a kid on the way and a two year old he hadn't seen walking yet. His wife couldn't afford the funeral costs and the hospital bills so I paid for his burial. It was the very least I could do. She had a daughter a month later. Called her Faith MacKenzie."

His eyes closed; he didn't know that fact. "Faith MacKenzie Lorenzo?"

She managed a quiet chortle, "I know. Poor thing."

"Mackenzie…"

"He was killed protecting me and his daughter is named after me. Forever. I don't-"

"Hey, hey, c'mere," he whispered, pulling her back into his chest as her voice began to waiver and tears began to fall again. She fell back into his embrace, her hand fisting his tee shirt between her fingers. "He didn't die _because _of you. He died because he was a good man and a damn good soldier. He died for his country and, as hard as that will always be for his wife and his children, I have no doubt that they will be proud of that fact." He stroked his hand over her hair, "You don't name a child lightly, so for his wife to call their daughter after you… They must be hoping she takes on your strength, generosity and determinedness."

She swallowed, "Determinedness? You mean stubbornness?"

He gave a laugh, "It sounds better as determinedness, but yes. You can be very stubborn."

She smiled, loosening her grip on his shirt so she could rub the material between her fingers.

His arm around her smoothed from her shoulder, down her arm and settled on her hip; his touch was warm through the material of her jeans, his fingers spanning the expanse of her thigh. They stayed like that for a few minutes, silent memories flitting around their minds as the room was bathed in ethereal silver-blue glow of moonlight reflecting off nearby buildings.

He suddenly jumped up, unfolding himself from around Mackenzie and sending her heart into a free-fall in her chest that he had suddenly remembered who she was and what he really thought of her and how she had to leave.

He held out his hand.

"Will?"

"We both need to sleep, and sleeping on a couch is not as easy to do once you turn twenty-five. C'mon."

"Will, I-"

"It's okay," he took her hand, "Come on."

He led her into his bedroom and she had no possible way to compute what was happening. Her head was speeding between memories of being taken by the hand into his old bedroom – their bedroom – to the almost-crippling confusion and vulnerability of right now.

He dropped her hand and crossed to the chest of drawers, delving into the one containing his sleepwear. Usually – before - he would have handed her a pair of his boxers, knowing that was what she had liked to sleep in most; however, he really, _really, _couldn't have images of her long, bare legs within reaching distance, or rubbing against his beneath the cover s of his bed. He swallowed down a dry throat, abandoning the boxers for an old pair of sweat pants. "Here, take these. You can change in the bathroom."

She nodded, her large eyes even wider as she fought for any kind of words to leave her mouth. She turned on her heel and closed the bathroom door behind her as Will sank onto the bed. Was this the right thing to do, or was this a monstrously, ridiculously wrong thing to do? Why did he have such an all-consuming urge to heal her when she was hurting? Why did he care after everything that had happened?

Who was he kidding? Of course he knew why, but that certainly wasn't something he was going to admit to when the woman was in his bathroom unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them down those toned legs… _Fuck, _this was a really bad idea…

He quickly changed into his pyjama bottoms and faded Jets tee, raking a hand through his hair and over his face. Right now, she needed his help. She needed someone to talk to who knew her, someone to look after her because God knows she looked after everyone else; him especially.

She tested out the door knob, twisting it slowly to ensure he had heard and would be ready for when she opened the door. She was backlit when the door opened fully, a dark silhouette he could recognise anywhere, even if it was thinner than four years ago and seemingly even last week.

She flicked the light off and stepped forward sheepishly, her lip caught between her teeth. She had her sweater and jeans folded over her arm, a plain white tee shirt hung over his sweat pants that she had turned at the waist.

_Bad fucking idea, McAvoy._

He took the clothes from her arm and placed them on the chair before sitting down on the bed. He waited for her to sit down on the other side before he lay down; she mirrored his actions and so they lay there, side by side, legs tightly clamped together, hands on their respective chests and eyes firmly on the ceiling.

He sighed; neither would be getting any sleep at this rate. He wound his arm above her head on her pillow, inviting her to turn closer and place her head on his chest.

She swallowed before scooting over, her heart hammering in her chest as she settled against his side and his arm curled around her.

"How much have you really slept recently?"

"…Not much."

He gave a slight nod and settled into the pillow to close his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

He stood out on the balcony with a cup of coffee the next morning, watching the city slowly speed up with life; the morning traffic bunched at the lights, the birds swooped through the buildings, the sirens of police cars filtered up to his viewpoint.

MacKenzie was still in his bed.

He had woken to see her hair fanned across the pillow, the duvet low on the bed and her - _his_ - t-shirt rucked up to show the small of her back; creamy, smooth skin he almost reached out to touch.

Instead he got out of bed, showered and quietly changed in his bathroom, before making a strong coffee and going outside.

He worried about her. He wasn't stupid; he didn't expect one night sleeping next to him to have had some miraculous effects on her and healed her from her mental turmoil. He could have done with it helping enough so that she wasn't constantly on his mind, though.

He would be happier if he wasn't still picturing her when she saw the gun in her face, when she would have comforted Lorenzo's pregnant wife at the funeral, when she smiled in her office that night.

The memory of that smile brought with it other smiles of hers; the entire nights of her Peabody wins, when she saw the view of the Four Seasons Penthouse on her birthday, their first night together.

He rubbed a hand over his face, telling himself to remember when she told him about Brian, how she had lied to him, how she had sauntered back into his life like an apology would fix everything.

Despite that – despite all the shit and upset she had brought back into his life – he couldn't stand that she was going through something without anyone to help her. She was so _fucking _stubborn she had been going through it all for a week, and for years before that, on her own; like usual.

He checked his watch, drained his coffee and went back inside.

"Mackenzie?" he whispered. "Mac?"

She stirred, her face half buried into his pillow after she had sleepily scooted over when he got up over an hour ago. He had stood there and watched her cocoon herself into his warmth as she would do when they were together; a muscle memory unchanged with four years of _shit. _"Hmm?"

"Mackenzie, you have to wake up now."

She rubbed at her eyes, stretched out her lithe limbs beneath his covers and asked what time it was.

"Just after nine. Grab a shower and we'll swing by your place so you can change before going in."

She nodded, her eyes still fuzzy with sleep but locked with his; she had forgotten how much bluer they were in the morning. "I slept," she stated.

"You did; a good three consecutive hours. How you feel?"

"Tired."

He smiled at her frown, gesturing to the bedside table as he stood up. "Coffee. There are clean towels in the cupboard."

He was gone from the room before she could thank him.

Lonny and Will were parked outside of MacKenzie's building within the hour, a text message sent to Jim to start the 10am rundown and they'd be there as soon as possible. The radio was playing Johnny Cash as they stared at her front door and Will could sense Lonny's dying to say something.

"So…"

"Don't."

"Good night?"

"Shut up."

"Hey, we won't have a problem as long as you don't hurt her."

"_Me_ hurt _her_?"

"I know you two have some fucked up love/hate chick flick thing going on, but I have never seen such a tiny woman scare so many doctors shitless as when you were in that hospital, so don't take her for grant-…you're not listening to me, are you?"

"…Hmm?"

"I honestly don't see what she sees in you. I would be much better for her."

They both popped their doors when they saw her leave her building, but Lonny closed his again with a sigh and smirk as Will jumped out and opened the back door for her. She slid in with a sheepish smile to Lonny in the rear-view mirror.

"Thank you for that, Lonny."

"My pleasure, ma'am."

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she said, "Don't call me ma'am. MacKenzie's fine."

He nodded slowly, his brow furrowed before reverting his attention back to the road. He didn't usually garner that response when he used his manners.

He shot a look towards Will as he swung around to check the traffic behind him, but he was scrolling through Reuters on his cell phone.

Something was off; he knew it.

She shut the office door and bought herself a few moments of peace; a few moments to fully assess what a truly colossal fuck-up she had suddenly made of her life. Why was this year seemingly so much harder? She had a …dark period every year around the anniversary; where sleep was harder to get and the memories would be at the forefront.

It wasn't really the explosion or the gun she would have flashbacks about; of course, they were in there, but it was the conversations. The inane, ridiculous talks about music, books and news broadcasting. Renzo could answer all of her questions and teach her everything she needed to know about the culture, the helicopters and what-to-and-what-not-to expect.

He kept a picture of his wife and son in his helmet; he had shown her one night. They had set up camp in a bombed out building, the stars staring down at them as he shone a flashlight onto the photograph; he pointed out little Matthew Jr peeking out from beneath his daddy's helmet and perched on Suzanne's hip.

"That was before we found out she was pregnant. I got shipped out a week after she took the test," he had told her before breaking out into a smile. "She emails me pictures of her belly. I don't think Matthew's too happy about all the pink in the house. What about you? I've seen you emailing. You got someone at home?"

She had looked over to Jim, confirming he was asleep before telling Renzo about Will, about what she did, about how she kept emailing but got nothing in return.

He had told her off but was apparently a believer in fate; if she and Will and were supposed to happen, they would. She had scoffed but he raised compelling arguments; compelling enough for 3am in war-torn Afghanistan when shells could be heard dropping in the distance.

She emailed Will again that night.

_Will._

God, it was good to feel him like that again. His hands on her back, on her thighs; just curled up on the couch watching one of his movies, unwinding after the day. If only she hadn't been sobbing, spouting barely-comprehensible bollocks and being led to his bed like a scared child during the night.

She wasn't a particularly emotional person. People used to comment on how un-American she could be when it came to the ol' stiff upper lip and British sentimentality on emotions and feelings.

She didn't cry over Brian, but she cried over Will; she cried about the expression on his face when she told him. She shed a tear when the plane left for Afghanistan because, as much as she wanted the deployment and challenge of reporting the war, the boost she had had to sign the insurance waiver was the inability to be in the same city where he was on posters and billboards smiling when all she could see was the hurt in his eyes and how it triggered a deep dark hatred of herself.

The previous anniversaries of that fateful day with Renzo had generally consisted of a few sleepless nights, a bit of wavering attention, some flashbacks and a decent amount of alcohol. This year's had hit her so much harder.

Why had he been so good to her? Why hadn't he told her where to go? Told her to leave like he had so wanted to weekly for her first year back?

_Heart as big as a range rover. _

"Mac? We got delayed so haven't started yet. You wanna take it?"

She looked over, a smile forming as she slipped her feet back in her shoes. "Jim. James. Jimmy."

"Uh oh."

"Jimbo."

The door dropped from his hand and swung closed. "He-he asked me and I was worried about you and he can be very insistent, y'know? And kinda scary." He scraped a hand over his hair, "How mad at me are you?"

She laid a hand on his arm, "I'm not. You meant well." She waited until he had heaved a sigh before adding, "But you tell anyone, _especially _Will, about anything else that happened over there and I promise you I will shoot you in the other side of your arse, got me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She turned back to him, half-way out of the door, "Don't… don't call me ma'am."

Jim nodded.

Will had watched her throughout the day; caught a glimpse of her engrossed in the paper, hanging over someone's shoulder reading their screen, advising Maggie of where to take a story or how to get what they needed from a spokesperson. Almost like a normal day, except he would catch her staring at a TV without focus, or twisting the papers in her hand into a tight cone.

She came back from the coffee stand – burned, thick sludge – a couple of hours after broadcast to find him sat at her desk. He was in his jeans and sweater again, a stripe of make-up still behind his ear and colouring the collar of his white polo. "You missed a bit."

"Hmm?" He turned in the seat.

She licked her thumb and quickly swiped it behind his ear, eliciting the same sound a grossed-out child would make and a smirk from her as he rubbed at the wet area. His reaction to that never failed to amuse her.

"I would yell at you if that wasn't the first smile I've seen in a week."

The smirk fell away to sheepish embarrassment as she took a seat opposite him. "What are you still doing here?"

"What are _you_ still doing here?"

"I was just leaving-"

"Liar."

"Will-"

"Why can't you sleep?"

"It- I-"

"MacKenzie, no matter what I tell myself I can't sit by while I know you're going through something like this with no one to talk to. So talk to me or I can call Jake Habib and get you an appointment. It's like you said, Mac, everyone needs a bit of therapy."

"It's not a big deal, okay? I… get flashbacks at this time of year. A week later I'm sleeping again and I'm up to date on my paperwork and emails. I'm fine, Billy."

"Sounds it."

She chewed on her lip before turning to the computer and pulling up her emails. A couple of clicks later, a picture was brought up full screen.

"Is that them?" He asked, swivelling the chair around.

"Matthew and Faith Lorenzo. Suzanne sends me pictures and an update on the anniversary; this was them at Hallowe'en, obviously. Matthew wanted to be Captain America and Faith wanted to be whatever Matthew was. She's pretty much his shadow."

"Do you ever see them?"

"We'll Skype occasionally; my birthday, their birthdays, Christmas. I send a couple of presents over."

"I had no idea."

She clicked the screen onto standby, "There's a lot you don't know now."

He swallowed, "You gonna go home?"

She nodded, pulling a highlighter into her fingers and clicking the lid, "In a little while."


	4. Chapter 4

_You awake?_

_Yes. You?_

_Obviously._

She smiled as she read his text message, sitting further up in bed, encased within heavy winter duvets.

_What time did you leave? _He asked.

_A little after midnight. Why are you awake?_

She worried she had said something wrong when he didn't reply, but his picture suddenly appeared with a quiet trill of her ringtone. "Hi."

"Hey. You sure I didn't wake you?" he asked, his voice husky and whisky-smooth; her eyes closed at the sound.

"No, I got an hour and a bit before. That'll do me for a while."

His voice didn't bely any humour at her gentle joke. "How long until you'll sleep properly again?"

She took a breath, "Generally about a week, all being well."

"When will it be a week?"

"Two days ago…?"

"MacKenzie-"

"-it's fine, Will."

"I really wish you'd stop saying that. What happened to you isn't-"

"-I know what it was, Will-"

"-something anyone would be fine from. Even you, Mac."

"Even me?"

He went quiet. "You amaze me sometimes. Well, all the time, but I'm only willing to admit to 'sometimes'. The way you're able to put an entire hour-long show together in your head and change it all half way through because of breaking news or a guest who turns out to be a prick or technical malfunctions… it just boggles my mind sometimes, MacKenzie. You're so goddamn smart I can't understand why you stick around ACN or what…what you see in me. I don't… I don't deserve your trust or attention, MacKenzie, I-"

She sat up in bed, pulling her knees up and hugging them to her chest. "Billy, you deserve more than I can give you, I am just hoping one day you'll actually let me-"

"Mac, I can't do this right now."

"Oh. Right. Okay. Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. It just seemed like you wanted to talk about-"

"I know, I'm sorry. I can't."

"Right. No, I understand. Can…"

"'Can' what?"

"Could you stay on the line? We can talk about something else."

"Sure."

"You don't mind?"

"I don't mind."

She smiled, settling back into the pillows and the tucking the covers under her arms. "Do you have any plans for your weekend?"

"Watching the football here, nothing major. You?"

"I'll probably go into the office. Millie dropped off the performance evaluation forms so I'll get a head start on them."

"We do performance evaluations?"

"We do when I have a minute to complete them," she laughed. "Anything or anyone you want me to give a special mention about?"

"Jim needs a haircut, can you put that in there?"

"Yeah I don't think so. I think Leona and Charlie want more along the lines of personability with peers, guests and outside agencies…"

"Oh, I have nothing for you then."

She laughed, "Thanks."

"Anytime. I still know everyone's name if you want any help there."

"No, I think I'm good, thanks," she was smiling, a hand tucked beneath her head. "Who's playing tomorrow?"

"Everyone."

"Oh. Who are you rooting for?"

"Well, Florida Seminoles are having a good season so far, and the Nebraska game should be a good."

She nodded, "I have no idea what you just said."

"How is that still possible?"

"I like to surprise people," she smirked.

"And you do."

She fell asleep eventually, with Will still on the other line.

MacKenzie did indeed go into the office the next day. She pulled on jeans, a faded Cambridge tee, her ACN hat, and shrugged her arms into an old, somewhat-raggedy, but wholly comfortable zip-up sweater she kept in the office as soon as she rounded her desk.

She flicked through the weekend broadcasts and broadsheets, highlighting and clipping a few sections that could be of interest for the Monday show. She kept the CNN show on quiet for background noise, though barely registered the chatter as she caught up on emails and finally turned to the performance evaluations.

"Jesus Christ, man!" she suddenly exclaimed, ripping her glasses from her face and sitting back in the chair clutching her chest when Will burst through the door. "You don't fucking sneak up on a woman, you idiot!"

He probably shouldn't have, but he smiled.

Thankfully, her features softened and she smiled too; beginning to laugh when she called him, "Dick", pulling the cap from her head and smoothing down her hair.

"Good afternoon to you too, sunshine."

"What are you doing here?"

"Well," he grabbed the television remote and muted the channel before sitting down opposite her. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

She seemed to still entirely – her mind wondering if the impending conversation was the one he couldn't stomach the night before on the phone;, her heart hoping it was.

He dipped a hand into the inside pocket of his sports jacket and pulled out two cheques, laying them out carefully and precisely on her desk.

She was disappointed - she couldn't lie -but was more intrigued, "What are these?"

"Well, after you got to sleep last night, I was still up for a while and I was thinking. I wanted to see how you felt about approaching the Susan -"

"Suzanne?"

He gestured to the cheques, "These are for college funds for the kids."

She stared at the cheques, slowly bringing her eyes up to his. "Will…"

"Do you think she would accept them?"

"I have no idea, I- Will, are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely."

"But…why?"

"He saved your life, he saved Jim's and countless others over there and back here. The Veteran pay is abysmal in this country and it's something that needs to be addressed, but in the meantime I'd like to help the family out. I have the means to help them and I want to."

"But take Jim and I out of the equation, why Renzo? Why this family?"

"I can't answer that question, which is why I also have this," he reached into the inside pocket on the other side of his jacket, pulling out another cheque, this one with Renzo's name scribbled across the memo space. "This is made payable to the Michigan Veteran's Hospital, where I know Renzo spent some time himself before shipping back out."

"How do you know that?"

"I made a call."

"Will, I don't-"

"Just ask her. Please let me do this for them. And you."

Mac brought her bottom lip between her teeth and stared at him. She wanted to reach across the desk and kiss him, caress his cheek and thank him for being the most perfect example of a man outside of her father. She released her lip and spun the chair to face the computer. A few clicks later, the speakers were emitting a dialling tone and she was dragging her fingers over her hair and wishing she had given more of a crap about it that morning.

"Mac?" A voice asked as the picture came into view. "Hi!"

"Hi Suzanne," she smiled, "Can you talk?"

"Yes, of course! Matty's at soccer and Faith's on a playdate, I was just looking for an excuse to escape doing the washing so this is perfect," Suzanne smiled. She had a dark blue Michigan University sweatshirt on and seemed to be talking to Mac on her cellphone. She had an easy smile that lit up green eyes almost hidden by dark bangs. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Mac smiled.

Suzanne took a beat, "You sure?"

"Listen, I have something to talk to you about," she said, evading the other woman's question with a flail of her hands and ushering Will to bring his chair around her side of the desk. "Suzanne, I'd like you to meet Will McAvoy."

"Oh my God," she muttered, her face falling and eyes widening. A hand quickly smoothed across her hair. "Mr McAvoy, I-I-"

Will smiled, "Hi Suzanne, please call me Will."

She nodded, casting a look towards Mac that essentially said _you warn a girl when you're going to put a celebrity on Skype! _"Will."

"Suzanne, MacKenzie and Jim Harper have told me all about your husband and the sacrifices he made for their lives and I would first like to extend my condolences for your loss."

Suzanne's eyes turned a shade darker, the gaze dropping, "Thank you."

"I wanted to offer something to your family, if I may." He cast a look to Mac before continuing, "If you allow, I would like my accountant Arthur to contact you on Monday about setting up college funds for your children. They mean a great deal to MacKenzie and I am aware of your circumstances and would like to do this for them and for you."

Suzanne's mouth was agape; shock and trepidation across her features.

Mac began to speak, "Suzanne, he's being serious. He came to me with two cheques," she held them up to the camera, covering Will's face. "Each for twenty-thousand dollars and for Matthew Jr and Faith."

"Twen…?" she breathed.

"Obviously, it's up to you but the offer is legitimate, no strings attached and he just really wants to help you."

"But why us? I-I don't like the thought that we're getting special treatment just because Matthew was stationed with you."

Mac gestured to Will to continue.

"Obviously," he began, "as much as I would like to, I can't offer that to every child of the military, so you _are_ getting special treatment. However, I am also going to donate two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars to the Michigan Veteran's Hospital. Should you accept the offer, I'd like to do that in your husband's name, but they will be receiving that regardless."

"Oh my God," Suzanne repeated, a hand covering her mouth as tears began to fall. "Is he for real?" she asked Mac.

""I question it myself sometimes, but he is indeed for real. He's a rare breed," she looked to him with a smile, tears behind her eyes from her friend's reaction.

"Then I would be stupid to not accept!" She gave a watery laugh, her hand not holding the phone shrugging into the air. "Matthew would literally come back and kill me if I didn't! Mr McAvoy-"

"-Will-"

"I cannot thank- there are not enough- I can't even begin to thank you enough for what you're doing for my children and for the people at that hospital. I volunteer there a few hours a week and that money will do so much good there, I can't tell you." She swiped at fallen tears with the sweater-covered hands.

"I am so happy to be able to do this for you, Suzanne. You'll get a call from Arthur on Monday, okay? He can help set everything up for you," he smiled, laying a hand on Mac's shoulder. "I'll leave you two alone."

"I can't believe this is happening…"

Mac grinned, watching the door close behind Will, "That money you were putting away for them can go on the trip to Disney that Faith wants so badly."

Suzanne laughed, "It can! Oh God, I can't wait to see their faces. Thank you, MacKenzie. Thank you so much. What you did for us with the funeral was more than enough but this…"

"I had no hand in this one, it was all Will. He's a really good guy."

"…Mac, can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

MacKenzie gestured for her to continue.

"Are you really okay? You don't seem… I don't know."

She was taken aback by the question, "It's just been a rough week, that's all."

"The anniversary? Mac, please tell me you're not blaming yourself for anything. Matthew was a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be and loved that job almost as much as he loved his family. Given the chance, he wouldn't have done anything differently that day, I promise you that. If it wasn't you he saved, it would have been one of his buddies or… I don't know. Matthew would have done anything for anyone." She took a breath, shaking her head, "I do not blame you for anything, okay? Matthew wouldn't, the kids don't and you sure as hell shouldn't, do you hear me?"

She couldn't help the quiver in her chin at Suzanne's vehement insistence. She managed to nod, telling her through a shaking voice, "Listen out for Arthur's call. I'll send some things out for Faith's birthday. Talk to you soon." She ended the call before Suzanne could say any more and, blessedly, before she began to cry.

She spun away from the computer and moved to stand up, going as far as the corner of the desk before leaning back against it and covering her face.

She felt Will's arm encircle her waist and his chest beneath her head almost instantly.

Crying on him was becoming a habit, she fleetingly thought; Suzanne's words ringing through her mind practically on a loop. She definitely felt like an amount of weight had been lifted from her shoulders; though Mac had been told by Suzanne previously that she wasn't to blame and shouldn't have the death on her shoulders, she still felt it. Of course Suzanne must blame her, even hate her, her husband had died and her children were without a father. While Suzanne felt the absence of Matthew from their lives - of course she would – she was as at peace with the situation as she could possibly be.

The sobs soon subsided, Mac's fists clutching his shirt as Will rubbed circles into her back and held her tightly against him. He was warm, smelling of spiced cologne and cigarettes; it was familiar and comforting.

He placed a kiss into her hair, continuing to hold her long after she had finishing crying; to when it was essentially a hug. A long, tight, contented hug. He took a breath, the scent of her hair filling his nostrils as he smoothed his hands over her back. She was too thin for his liking; his fingers falling between the divots of her spine on their journeys, her waist seemingly fitting between the span of two hands.

She was trying to suppress a yawn; he could feel the tensing of her muscles, the clenching of her jaw, the long express of air afterwards.

He placed a final kiss in her hair before pulling backwards, the tops of her arms in his grasp as he said, "You want to come back to mine? I'll make lasagne, start a fire, you can…sleep over. What do you say?"


	5. Chapter 5

She woke beneath a blanket on his couch – a crick in her neck, a fire roaring in front of her and a football game on the television that she assumed to be college.

The pull towards slumber was still strong as she looked around, her eyes slowly opening again after blinks. She stared at the fire, the flames licking the wood and coals, lighting the room save for a lamp behind Will.

He didn't know she had woken, his attention glued to the television before him. Her socked feet were on his lap, his arm a heavy weight across her knees. She watched him as his jaw was clenching almost rhythmically in silent anticipation as the game commentators' voices rose, the young man with a ball running towards the goal… try line? Touch zone? Something like that.

"Are you winning?" She asked, clearing her throat right after.

He looked over to her, a slight smile curling his lips. "If we get this kick…" his eyes flicked to the screen and back to her. "Which we do, so yes."

"Congratulations. What time is it?"

"A little after nine. Are you hungry?"

She just now recognised the smells of garlic, tomatoes and grilled cheese, and felt the rolling hunger in her stomach. "Famished," she swung the blanket off and sat up, wrapping herself back up in the warm material.

Will placed his beer on the table and crossed to the kitchen, removing a cloche from a cooling homemade lasagne, as promised. It was a recipe his mother had given him before he went off to college and one he had used to seduce MacKenzie more years ago than either would care to number.

Making it for her again was not a tactic to seduce her, it was purely because he knew she liked it and other than a homemade McMuffin, he didn't have a whole lot of skills in the kitchen. He had already eaten whilst she slept – he wasn't about to wake her when she was finally sleeping – but didn't want her to eat alone so he warmed a few generous portions and, with two beers, returned to the couch.

She thanked him for the plate and sat it on her knees, just the smell was making her mouth water and she couldn't wait to take a bite. "So your team's in white?" She gestured to the television.

"My team for this game. A win from puts them top of my fantasy pool."

"You have fantasies about this team in a pool?"

He slowly turned to her, "I have fantasies about pools but let me assure you this team, nor any team, is in said pool."

"USA Women's Olympic Volleyball Team, 2000."

"That is a very different situation."

She smirked, scooping another bit of lasagne onto her fork.

"You feeling better?"

She exhaled, as if mentally assessing her current state. "I think so. Getting there."

She definitely had colour back to her cheeks, the smiles were easier and she seemed… lighter. "Good. You want any more?"

She popped the forkful into her mouth and scooped up the rest before handing her plate back to Will, "Yes, please!"

He smirked as he took the plate into the kitchen, reheating another portion and joining her back on the couch.

"Thank you."

He placed his arm over the back of the couch, "It always seems a waste to make a six-serving lasagne for one, so it's nice to break out Mom's recipe for company."

"No, I mean _thank you_, Will." The plate was warm on her knee, her nails scraping across the raised patterned edges of the ceramic design. "You had every right to walk away from me, to leave me be; but you didn't. Then, with what you did for Suzanne and for the children… You're a good man, Will. You deserve someone who will tell you that every day."

He took a breath.

Her eyes were wide, sparkling in the low light with sincerity, pride and complete openness.

His hand reached out from the couch and into her hair, stroking the ends through his fingers, watching as she dipped her head. Her cheek brushed against his palm, her eyes closing at the contact as his heart began to beat faster. "I miss you," he breathed.

"I'm right here."

He was mesmerised by his own actions as he smoothed his hand from her cheek to her chin, his thumb gliding along the bottom of her lip before settling below; her skin was always impossibly soft, barely ever a blemish, hardly ever a tan. He gave the slightest tug on her chin and brought her towards him as their lips met.

It began slowly, tentatively, but a breathy moan escaped her and he lost any caution he may have been feeling. He deepened the kiss, the desire and _need _growing with each swipe of her tongue across his lips. The muscles in his neck and back were beginning to burn with the angle at which they were sat on the couch, but before he could raise a protest she had broken away, moving the plate from her lap to the table and suddenly she was straddling him, her lips back on his immediately.

His hands fell from her cheeks to her hips, her thighs, bunching the tee shirt up her back. She had a hand in his hair, threading her fingers through the strands as another moan escaped. She could feel him everywhere; his warm solid torso beneath her searching hands, his own smoothing beneath her tee shirt, his muscles clenching beneath her thighs.

"Wait," she breathed, pulling away from his lips, his hands slipping from her bare skin to her hips. "We can't."

"What?"

Her hands were splayed across his chest, "You hated me until Wednesday, and felt sorry and…_protective_ of me since," she slipped from his lap, his hands maintaining contact despite the confusion across his features. "It's too soon."

"Mac-"

"I can't knowing-"

"No, MacKen-"

"Please, Will. Please," Her head had dropped, dark bangs falling into her eyes and fingers picking at barely-healed cuticles.

He was looking at the little girl again; the lost, lonely, vulnerable MacKenzie, with soft, pink swollen lips that not two minutes ago he had been kissing. He wanted to groan, he wanted to grab her arms and say everything his head was screaming at him to verbalise, he wanted to pull her back into his lap and kiss her until she felt better.

_Yes, McAvoy, because kissing you will eradicate the memories of war zones and death and survivor's guilt. _

"Okay," he nodded, "It's okay."

She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. "Would you mind if I just went to bed? I have a lot of sleep to catch up on and I feel like I might just be able to."

Will nodded, disguising his disappointment because she really didn't need that on top of everything else right now. He grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, "C'mon. We'll both go."

It was sometime after three when the nightmare struck. She wasn't particularly expecting it – she had had a good sleep earlier on the couch, nightmare free, so she had hoped she had passed that part of her week.

She had tangled herself up in the sheets, one arm immobile at her side and the other at her chest, sweat dripping from her brow that her mind was telling her was Renzo's blood.

_His body's heavy on her and she can't move she can't lift him off her his blood's dripping on her and he's dead he's dead he isn't moving oh god he's dead she needs to get out get out she can't breathe his blood's dripping he's so heavy someone's coming oh fuck there's someone there someone who knows her name oh god-_

"MacKenzie!" Will pulled the sweat-sodden sheets free from her as she snapped her eyes open.

For a split second, Will's face was that of the Taliban guy who had the gun to her head.

She yanked herself free and got up from the bed as he called her name quietly, letting her come back to reality but with a tangible link to it. "Mac, you're in my apartment, you're in New York. It's okay."

She paced the floor, her arms flailing in response before she turned to the window and leant her head against the cold glass. That was too real.

He was sat up in bed, his own heart hammering in his chest as he watched her wrap her arms around herself. "Mac?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, just…just give me a minute."

He waited as she watched the cars below, the glass cooling her skin as she willed her heart to settle down – she didn't usually do it with an audience.

She turned after a few minutes; smiling shyly as she realised Will was still sat upright, watching her. He straightened the sheets out on her side of the bed, inviting her back in.

She crawled over to him, tucking herself under his outstretched arm and against his chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He tucked a hand under his head.

She swallowed, "It was just the usual replay."

His fingers were playing across her skin, tracing shapes up and down her bicep as he waited to see if she wanted to elaborate.

Her hand was splayed across his chest, moonlight glancing off her hair when he announced: "I didn't hate you before Wednesday. I haven't hated you for a long time."

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I don't think I hated you then, I think it was disappointment really. I couldn't be enough for you. I was disappointed in myself." He trailed his fingers back up her arm, his eyes transfixed on the light fixture in the middle of the ceiling. "I hated Brian. I hated that I would picture you together whenever I thought of you. I hated that he wasn't, _isn't_, good enough for you. I hated that he never shaves."

She gave a chuckle at that, shifting in the bed so her hand rested beneath her chin and she looked at his face.

"I never hated you," he said, looking down to her, his fingers threading into her hair again. "I don't think you can hate someone you love."

Her lip was between her teeth again; partly because she needed to decide what he was actually telling her, but mostly to quell the burgeoning grin. She cleared her throat, "So if you never hated me… when did you stop loving me?"

He looked at her like she had just asked the most ridiculous, imbecilic, absurd question possible.

She shifted once again, this time to move her hands to either side of his chest. She levered herself back to his lips, his fingers still in her hair and crushing her to him as they both smiled into their kiss. As soon as she was flush against the length of his body, he turned them both and settled between her legs. "I never stopped loving you."


	6. Chapter 6

Huge thank you to everyone who has read/favourited/reviewed this story xx

* * *

"Mac?" He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "MacKenzie?"

She stirred but snuggled further into his pillow with a moan. "It's Sunday…"

"No, sweetheart, it's Monday." He smiled, brushing at the hair again as it didn't tuck behind her ear.

"No."

"There were more riots in Turkey last night," he told her, tempting her from her slumber with world news. "The Police showed alleged 'excessive force' against the protesters," she shuffled herself further under the duvet, "…and assaulted a CNN videographer…"

Her eyes slowly opened. "The videographer…?"

"Alive. One civilian dead, over three-thousand injured by last count."

The lock of hair fell over her face again and she snatched it away, sitting up on an elbow. "Has the President made a statement yet?"

"No." He smiled again, standing up and gesturing to the bedside table. "Coffee. Grab a shower and we'll go to yours so you can change before going to the office."

She nodded, whipping the covers away from herself before padding barefoot and naked into the bathroom. She had just crossed the boundary to the other room before she looked back. "Billy?"

He turned to face her in the far doorway.

Her mouth opened in search of appropriate words but, failing, dissolved into a smile. "Hurry up," he told her as he mirrored her smile, wanting to follow her into the shower more than anything.

They pulled up outside her apartment forty-five minutes later, MacKenzie sliding out of the backseat of the SUV and running up to change.

Will sat in silence with Lonny staring at Reuter's on his cell phone as the weekend's sports were discussed over the radio. "Don't," he warned.

Lonny shrugged, looking straight ahead, "Didn't say a thing."

Will nodded, sliding a finger over the screen as Lonny readjusted his jacket and just happened to show off the gun fasted to his belt loop.

Xx

The morning run-down meeting was a busy, raucous affair with all of the team talking over each other about what they had found about the weekend's top stories.

"Okay, whoa!" MacKenzie eventually hollered, her hands flailing in the air. "One at a time, three tops." She gestured towards Kendra to go first.

Neal was announcing corresponding online reports when a post-room intern pushed through the conference room doors and passed Mac a manila envelope. She smiled her thanks, slipping a finger through the seal as Maggie played devil's advocate on Kendra's story, upping the volume of the group as Kendra didn't like the interruption.

Will watched her as she looked into the envelope, before giving a smile and closing the seal again, slipping it into her file. He raised an eyebrow in question, to which she smiled and shook her head slightly, silently telling him she'd tell him later. "Guys! I said three voices at the most…"

Will and MacKenzie stayed in the room as the team filtered out into the newsroom. "Well?"

She slid the envelope from her file to the table as she took a seat. He sat down where Maggie had not long vacated, sliding out two pieces of A4 paper secured with a paperclip and a smaller sheet of patterned paper.

"Dear MacKenzie and Will," he read. "I told the children about your incredible offer and… they basically shrugged and asked what was for dinner. I explained what this meant for their future and, being six and four, they still didn't quite grasp the enormity of your generosity. So I said it meant we can go to Disney World next year and they almost deafened me with their cheers, shouts and Faith's cries of "Mickey!" Even the dog started joining in! Thank you for that moment as well, Mr. McAvoy.

Faith pulled out her crayons and drew you both a picture – she "really really really" hopes you like them. Mac, let me explain that she drew you with Mickey ears – you'll see what I mean.

I could never, ever express my thanks enough for what you both have done for me, Matthew, Matty and Faith. I am forever in your debt and hope we can all still be in contact when it comes to putting the college funds to use.

I wish you both immense luck, success and happiness for your futures.

With love,

Suzanne." He looked up to see MacKenzie smiling, her legs crossed over the other and arms folded across her chest. "There are also a couple of kisses."

"Let's see the pictures," she leant forward, picking at the papers in his hands. She recognised her name across the top of one; purple wax crayon, large letters and a back-to-front 'K' and 'Z'. A nine colour rainbow was in the middle with what she assumed to be a representation of herself, complete with the Mickey ears Suzanne had warned her about – they were essentially large half-circles where her regular ears would be. Mac smiled as she saw 'herself' holding hands with a shorter version labelled as 'me' by little Faith.

She looked up to see Will smiling and a little chuckle escaping. "What has she done?"

He spun the paper, showing the same large lettering for "Thank you Mr McAvoy', though with a few back-to-front letters again and lots of loops hanging off the tail of the 'y' in McAvoy. Below it was a very tall man with yellow crayon hair and a big smile, holding hands with a figure in a bright pink dress with blue spots and an arrow labelled 'Mac'. "She drew us," she smiled. "I don't think I've worn bright pink since I was in diapers…"

He laughed, "Sherri St. James' bridesmaid dress…"

Her face screwed up, "I drank enough tequila that night to block the memory of that dress out and out it shall stay, McAvoy."

He smiled again, sliding his hand over hers on the table. "How do you feel?"

"Better. Dare I even say 'good'?" She smirked. "Last night certainly went a ways towards that…"

"I, er, believe there's still some lasagne left, you know…"

"Maybe I'll have it tonight…"

"Maybe you will…" he smirked, before snatching his hand away as Jim barrelled through the doors.

"We have the US ambassador in Turkey willing to… is everything okay?"

"Jim," MacKenzie smiled, shuffling together her file again and placing her crayon drawing in the secure flap on the inside of the front cover. "James," she stood up, "Jimbo…"

He looked at her, then at Will, then back at Mac and was none-the-wiser. "Okay, er, well, Maggie had the ambassador willing to go on the show but he has conditions."

She rolled her eyes, "Of course he does." She left the men in the room as she went to Maggie's desk, placing her file down and taking up the telephone.

"How is she really?"

Will gathered up the envelope and picture, stood up from the chair and slapped Jim's arm a few times before moving past him and out of the room for his office.

"You realise no one answered me, right?" Jim asked, looking around the empty room to MacKenzie on the other side of the newsroom.

Mac shook her head into her phone conversation, but caught Jim's eyes and gave him a smile – a proper smile.

Jim could deal with that. He heaved a thankful sigh and returned to the bustling bullpen.


End file.
